It's the Metal '80's...You're in a smoky, sweaty suburban bar and everyone is clad in denim, leather and studs. On the prowl for something wet and hot, you scan the crowd for available female Metalheads, as the band hammers out some slutty, fist pumping Heavy Metal. It's too dark to really see who's who in the chaotic gathering of beer-fueled punters, so your eyes fall square on the sexy figure at centre stage, one Maryann Scandiffio of BLACKLACE. Her trailer trash feathered bouffant, ready-as-hell lipstick smackers, heavy black eyeliner and spandex and chains have you lasciviously salivating and you know where your destination lies tonight, between the pumping thighs of this glorious Metal queen!
The band has already opened with "March Of The Black Witch", a deadly, killer instrumental of death-spawning diabolicism, marching with evil force into the double-bass driven anthem "Call Of The Wild." Scandiffio's vocals are powerful, dramatic and compelling and you want even more to hear her scream out your name between the sheets. Next, she teases you with the precious knowledge that you can be a "Damn Cheater", break all the rules, but she'll still give you one hell of a hard time once she gets you in the sack. But though you're an '80's teenage banger and still partial to bubblegum Metal, your attention drifts from "Runner In The Night" and "Devil In Disguise" to the inevitable climax to the whole evening, in soft, whiskey-sweat soaked linen.
You awake from your Metal revelry with a sudden jolt as the band kicks hard into "On The Attack", an envelope-pushing rocker that has the crowd headbanging in rockified bliss. With "Born To Raise Hell" you even start to consider the little blonde chick bopping in front of you as the next target. Of course, "Hots For You" get Scandiffio back on the dinner plate, but only for her ample breasts and pumping crotch. The band is wrapping up the evening of Metal mayhem with "Nightmares", the PRIEST-inspired cutthroat riffery and charging, pounding progressions re-instating Scandiffio as your eternal Metal queen. The less-inspired refrains of "Ooo, Paranoid, Ooo, Self-destroyed, Ooo, Paranoid, Ooo, I'm null and void," bring the ceremonies to an abrupt end. The band leaves the stage, Scandiffio is nowhere to be seen, so you approach the backwater pub's dressing room. A big Italian guy with hair teased everywhere with hairspray blocks your path - it's Anthony Fragnito, BLACKLACE's own Steve Harris. "Hope you enjoyed the show man, sorry, but we're just packing up and leaving...Hope to see you at the next one," and slams the door in your face. It's just another night in the sexually-frustrated world of a teenage Metalhead, so you take it in stride. But whoever BLACKLACE was, you only possess a vague memory. (Online December 2, 2005)